


Two Daves, No Waiting

by JumpingJackFlash



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, dead daves, egbert salad sandwich, messy eater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-14
Updated: 2011-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:05:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JumpingJackFlash/pseuds/JumpingJackFlash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are watching Dave Strider make out with himself, and now you understand why people stand on the beach and take pictures of an oncoming tsunami instead of running for high ground. You physically cannot look away from this, let alone leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Daves, No Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> [is this seriously the first dave/dave/john fic on ao3? madness. anyway, welcome to my first pwp. props to my 'rail for some of these shenanigans. Rah, you are a filthy genius.]

They haven't noticed you yet. At the rate they're going, they may never notice you.

They? He? Both of him?

You are watching Dave Strider make out with himself, and now you understand why people stand on the beach and take pictures of an oncoming tsunami instead of running for high ground. You physically cannot look away from this, let alone leave.

The memory of his apartment is messy, dark, and vibrating. It's thick with the dust kicked up by the beat of the music he's got playing. You can feel the floor bumping through the soles of your feet. _If you wanna get with me, there's some things you gotta know: I like my beats fast and my bass down low._ The Daves are moving with the rhythm even though they're not dancing. Every gasp and grasp and twitch of hip and slip of lip is in perfect time.

The one in the red velvet pants has the one in the black jeans pinned against a doorframe, hands in his back pockets, one leg shoved between his thighs. Neither is wearing a shirt. Their skin is sugar-pale except where it's flushed pink. Their bodies are so lean and defined, you can see every muscle that contracts when they move. You had no idea a kid your age could be so cut. As red-velvet rocks his hips against black-jeans, you can watch the tension travel from his back and stomach across and up the other's abs and chest and neck before it escapes as a soft grunt of pleasure.

Your face is on fire. You feel dizzy. Can you faint when you're dead?

As they kiss, you catch glimpses of red tongue, white teeth. Their shades knock together and skew. In unison, they slip the shades from their faces and gently captchalog them. They open eyes red as strawberries and study each other.

"Looks freakier without a mirror," red-velvet says.

"When is that mirror ever clean," black-jeans points out. "Ah," he adds as red-velvet grinds again.

"So this is good, but," red-velvet murmurs breathlessly.

"All the time in the world," says black-jeans, as if answering a question.

"Flip for it?"

"Yeah."

They finally look away from each other, maybe to search for a coin to flip, and that's when they see you. They tense, but don't let go of each other, as they raise an eyebrow in unison. They both raise the right one, which wrecks the mirror-image illusion.

"Sorry!" you blurt. It comes out squeaky with panic. You sound like a deflating balloon. "Sorry, I didn't mean to watch! It just. I. You. Dave. Jesus. I'll just. Go now."

Their eyes flick down and back up, and the corners of their mouths curl. You grab the hem of your shirt and tug it down, even though you know it's futile at this point.

"Nah, stick around," black-jeans says. "You just solved my problem."

"I don't have a coin to flip," red-velvet explains. "Now I don't need one."

I, not we, you note distantly, while devoting the majority of your brainpower to freaking the fuck out in a totally-paralyzed sort of way. Dave caught you watching him make out with himself, caught you with a boner, caught you with a boner and _smiled_ , and suddenly you feel like a wildebeest surrounded by lions.

"What --" Your voice breaks. You have to stop, swallow, and try again. "What were you going to flip for?"

"Who hits the deck first," says red-velvet, at the same time that black-jeans says, "Who does the praying and who gets worshipped."

"Nice," red-velvet adds. "I like that one better."

"What?" you yelp.

Black-jeans snorts a soft laugh; red-velvet bares a flicker of teeth in a lopsided grin that's gone the next moment. They say it together: "Ever try to suck your own dick, Egbert?"

You get a mental picture of what they were about to do, and your knees give out.

In a flash they're beside you, catching you, holding you up. Pinning you between them. Their body heat, their solidity, the smell of their arousal makes your head spin. You can feel black-jeans's hardon pressing against your butt and red-velvet's against your thigh. If he were to shift just a few inches to his left... you would probably die. And they're breathing in your ears, their hands are wrapped around your sides, gently holding, slowly sliding.

"Fix your eyes, derp-for-brains," red-velvet commands, sounding a little irritable. "You look like a zombie."

"Since you apparently forgot," black-jeans adds, "they're a real sexy blue."

"Oh my god," you gulp. How crazy is it that the most unbelievable thing in this whole situation is hearing Dave Strider describe anything about you as sexy?

"Swimming pool blue," red-velvet suggests.

"Blue-screen-of-death blue," says black-jeans.

"Yeah. Good." He shifts his attention from his double to your face. "Good," he says again in a different tone. "There." He frames your face with long, pale fingers, runs them lightly across your cheekbones, takes your glasses.

"Dave, I can't _see_ without those!"

"You don't have to see."

"Yes he does," black-jeans says suddenly. "Idea."

Red-velvet gives your glasses back. "Sup?"

Your hands shake as you resettle them. This is _insane_. They're just having a conversation while they grope you. And you're not even trying to stop them. Black-jeans has your shirt untucked now, and his fingers are hot on your stomach.

"That one thing with the soccer dudes," he says.

"In the construction site?" red-velvet confirms. "Shit was so amateur."

"I could do better," black-jeans agrees, and suddenly they both angle in and lick your neck, one on each side.

"Ohmygod," you whimper. "Dave. Dave, I'm not gay!"

They answer in chorus: "John, you're dead."

You open your mouth to protest that you are still just as straight dead as alive, but they're nibbling your earlobes, which somehow makes it impossible to talk. Then you get their -- his? -- point: there are no consequences. Maybe any straight boy would get turned on by being double-Daved, or maybe you're not as straight as you thought, or maybe the dead are all just horny, and who cares? How can it possibly matter?

What matters is that you are so sprung it's like a migraine in your pants, and you're pretty sure Dave's about to do something he saw in a porno.

You jam your eyes shut, gasp for breath, and open them again, trying to remember them colored. "Okay." You're laryngitis-hoarse. "Okay. This is crazy but yeah."

"Sweet," they both say, and then the one in front kisses you.

You can no longer keep track of what's happening. You don't even know how to kiss like this, you've only had quick truth-or-dare lip-mashings before and now there's a tongue in your mouth. Teeth scraping your neck. Hands all over you. You have to let go of Dave's hot shoulders to let Dave slide your shirt off. A hand spreads over the front of your pants and squeezes lightly, and you let out a soft, helpless cry, almost falling down again.

They pushpull you a few stumbling steps, turn and shove you, and you reel back onto Dave's bed. You gawk up at them, horny and scared and light-headed. You have that surrounded-by-lions feeling again. All this time, and you never knew he was a beautiful predator. You let out a shaky laugh, and the Daves do the eyebrow thing again.

"Is this funny, Egbert?" they say, while their hands skim up your thighs.

"This is _us_ ," you try to explain. "You're my best friend. You're, you're not supposed to be sexy, you're supposed to be hilarious and kind of a douche but the best bro a guy could ask for and this is totally wrong and it's going to ruin our friendship and --"

"John --"

"-- if you stop I'm going to strangle you, just so you know."

"Gotcha." Both Daves sink to their knees, smirking, and one unzips your pants while the other peels them down. You lift your hips to make it easier, and they take the opportunity to grab your ass. They smirk at your yelp.

You fall back on your elbows, watching them with your mouth hanging open. Just air hitting your erection is making it worse. And then they _breathe_ on it. You just about choke on your own tongue. They glance at you, so smug, red tongues wetting pink lips, red eyes amused under heavy pale-lashed lids. Then they look at each other, and you can tell some signal has passed between them, though you can't read it. They lean in together and lick slowly up both sides of your dick, God so slowly it's excruciating, you're hyperventilating, hot rapid breath and spit and lips slacksoft sliding until they reach the head and

wrap their lips over it

kissing around it

and you come so hard you see stars.

As your world pieces itself back together, you realize you're ruined now. The image of two Daves kissing around your cock, with your come spattering their lips, is the only thing you will ever be able to jack off to for the rest of your life. There is simply nothing hotter in the entire universe.

Oh wait; the image of them _licking it off each other's faces_ is definitely in the running.

The bed jostles as they slink up onto it. They look down at you, and all you can do is lie there red-faced and panting for breath. "Welp," says black-jeans. Whose black jeans are undone now and so are the red velvet pants and they're working each other's dicks lightly, absently, and wow the universe has got to be a really big place to hold all this sexy.

"Guess I like sucking cock," says red-velvet. He sounds a little dazed.

"Yours, at least," black-jeans adds.

Tentatively, dreamily, you reach up your hands and touch their dicks. They hitch soft breaths, releasing each other so your hands can get in there. Oh wow. You have Dave's dick in both hands. So weird. This is so gay and debauched and ridiculous. You can't even process this kind of hotness. But you're dead, so.

"You guys," you breathe. "You guys need to fuck my mouth both at once. That is totally a thing that needs to happen."

Their eyes flash wide and their mouths drop half open. You feel their dicks twitch. Red-velvet's is just a fraction slower to react, and he looks a tiny bit more shocked. They're not identical, and knowing that somehow raises the sexiness level even higher.

"Hell yes," says red-velvet.

"Hell fucking yes," says black-jeans.

You sit up, studying them as they kneel over you, wondering how you're going to work this. They're going to have to sort of come at you at an angle, and you won't be able to close your mouth, but that actually sounds really hot...

"Oh my God," one of them breathes.

"The concentration face."

"With the tongue and."

"Little furrowed brow --"

"Yes."

"You're fucking adorable, bro."

"Now _get on it_ , Jesus fuck."

"I'm _dying_ here."

You look up with what you intend as a smirk, but you suspect it looks kind of shy and dizzy and maybe mischevious instead. "Rude, Dave. This is complicated, you shouldn't rush it."

They beg with their eyes. "John, for fuck's sake."

You know you could tease them more and get even more of a reaction, but you decide to be merciful. You open your mouth wide and guide them in. You taste cock for the first time, and it tastes like victory. The coolkid is completely losing his cool over you. _In stereo_.

This is ridiculous, it doesn't really work, and yet it's so fucking amazing. The way they're forcing your jaw open, stretching your lips. The noises they're making, the way their stomachs are fluttering. You go for the ass grab, and get to feel their butt muscles flex and shiver when you curl your tongue up to taste the place where they're rubbing together. You can't suck, you can barely breathe, and pretty soon there's drool running down your chin, salty with their precome. You would be embarrassed about the drool, except for two things: one, chicks in hentai drool like boarhounds, so clearly _someone_ thinks it's sexy, and two, you just heard at least one Dave whimper.

No, revise that: you just _made_ Dave whimper.

They each have a hand in your hair. Your glasses are fogged up. You dig your nails into their hard, narrow ass cheeks and curl your tongue again. You do your best to remember your eyes blue instead of blank, and look up at them from under your lashes.

The way they're looking at you, helpless and desperate, is an expression you never thought you'd see Dave make. And the _sounds_ , soft groans, caught breaths, so uncool and _so sexy_.

Suddenly your mouth is filling up with something thick and bitter, and swallowing is not an option. It floods over your tongue and sheets down your chin, streaks your neck and dribbles on your chest. They're pulling your hair, which makes your eyes water a bit. Then they relax and slip from your mouth, and you all kind of collapse in a heap.

You swallow what little didn't drool out. You grimace at the taste. "I think you eat too much meat, Dave."

The reply is a pair of breathless chuckles. "Holy shit, John." "You're a super freak." "You're super freaky." "Who'da thunk it."

You give a boneless half-shrug, curling your arms around their waists. You're covered in uck, and you don't even care. "I get it," you explain. "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose."

"Yeah, but how did you even think of _that_?" "I mean, this is _you_."

"I have the internet too, you know," you grin. "Just cuz it was a moe anime chick doing it doesn't mean I can't figure out where the dicks go. So next time, I think _you_ \--" you point at red-velvet -- "should suck _him_ off while I fuck you."

They lift their heads enough to exchange a look above you. "I've created a monster," says black-jeans.

"Alpha Dave has _no_ fucking idea," red-velvet snickers.

You put on your most innocent moe-chick face. "Does that mean you won't do it?"

"Oh, we're doing it," they say with enormous matching grins. "We're making it happen. We have all the time in the world."


End file.
